Wherever the Wind Shall Blow
by nebulia
Summary: During the final battle, Voldemort sucked the magic out of Harry, but unknowingly left him alive. Now, with the wizarding world in a shambles, he has to kill Voldemort and, somehow, follow a prophecy that no one can understand. HG&RHr. ON PERMANENT HIATUS
1. Prologue

A/N: This is going to be some angsty, long piece, in which I have plans for. It's going to have violence and other icky things in it later, but for now, it's PG-13. It _will_, however, go up to R within 3 or 4 chapters.

The chapters will also get longer; I'm sorry the first two are so short.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

**Wherever the Wind Shall Blow**

**Prologue**

_He lived through the final battle, but had no magic anymore. His wand had disintegrated. For if a wizard or wiitch'swand is not passed on through family or a friend, the wand disintegrates when the wizard or witch loses their magic, which only should happen when they die. Harry, as usual, was a special case._

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Shall I set the stage?

It is Harry Potter's seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He has prepared for this for two years, and now it has come.

Voldemort chases him into the Room of Requirement. It is as large as the Great Hall, empty and as cold and silent as a tomb. Several follow in, but the door is sealed shut.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Voldemort hisses gleefully. Are you ready to die?"

"No," Harry states softly, green eyes angry and fierce. He sees Wormtail off to one side, looking and him and mouthing soundless words. He sees Ginny, eyes shut tight as she tries to pry herself free from Lucius Malfoy's grasp. He sees Dumbledore, unconscious after being hit with seven Stunners at once, carried by Hagrid. He sees Ron and Hermione, pressed against a wall as Hermione prays silently and Ron—Ron _cries­­_, tears rolling down his face. "No," Harry says, louder this time, and points his wand at Voldemort, who is watching him craftily. "_Expelliarmus!_"

His voice, however, is mingled with one other. Harry watches the gold fibers surround them, and hears a voice.

_Break the connection, Harry._

_No, no,_ Harry thinks. _I can't._

_Break it! It will surprise him!_

_Who are you?_

_I am the Room. BREAK THE CONNECTION, HARRY!_

Harry pulls away. There is a snap, and Harry draws every awful memory, every hatred he has saved for this moment, this moment which he needs so much of it, and screams, "_Avada—"_

But he is stopped by a sudden force throwing him against the wall. He feels something crack and Hermione screams.

Voldemort's hand is out, holding him against the wall. It's like the Cruciatus Curse, it hurts so bad, and it doesn't stop…he can hear Hermione screaming, he can hear his mother begging for his life, his father angrily dueling, he shuts his mind and it stops, suddenly, and he is pinned against a wall.

"It is time, Harry," Voldemort says softly. "_Avada Kedavra!" _

A body in between them crumples to the ground, silver hand fading away to nothing.

Wormtail.

A voice echoes through the Room, Hagrid laughing. "Once a Marauder, always a Marauder, Tom. Though' ye knew tha'."

He suddenly slides to the ground as a flash of green light hits him in the chest.

"Hagrid!" Harry yells, and turns to Voldemort, who is laughing and Harry is suddenly cringing in pain from the laughter…he is a baby again, only there is no Lily to protect him, and then there is Voldemort yelling and then there is nothing. Nothing at all.

He can feel his magic draining away in a swirling mass of silver, and then it is gone.

That is what happened during the final battle.


	2. One: Another Day, Another Destiny

**Another Day, Another Destiny**

"'Mione?"

"Coming, Ron!"

Hermione Weasley waved her wand at her face, and observed the gray eyes staring back at her in the mirror with approval. She quickly pulled her light blond curls into a bun and slid a pair of tortoiseshell glasses on her face. Sliding into a Muggle coat, she rushed out of her bathroom and into the kitchen of her and her husband's flat.

Ron looked back at her, dark hair neatly combed and brown eyes serious. "You're going to be late."

Hermione shook her head. "Ginny's not here yet. Where's Neville, Luna?" she asked the small girl sitting at the kitchen table.

Luna tucked her frizzy chestnut hair behind her ears. "In the shower, Mum."

"Not anymore." Hermione's and Ron's second child rushed into the bedroom and sat at the table, quickly grabbing a few sticks of bacon.

There was a knock at the door. Hermione blew a kiss at her children and gave Ron a quick peck on the lips as she rushed out the door, grabbing her backpack off the table as she went.

Ron sat down and buried his face in his hands. "Another day, another destiny," he whispered and scooped some scrambled eggs onto his plate.

---------------

Ginny Potter and Hermione walked into L'Hopital, the room in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place that the Order used for a hospital.

The Order of the Phoenix was small and almost completely contained in that small building.

Harry had a small walled partition at the far end of L'Hopital, with a window and a bed and a bathroom.

Two years after the final battle, when Harry was in as perfect shape as he had ever been, Mr. Ollivander had brought many wands to L'Hopital, yet none worked for Harry.

"Ah, Albus," Mr. Ollivander had said, silver eyes shining with tears, "I fear that the only wand which would work for Harry would be his old one. However, he may learn wandless magic if he is teachable."

Teachable, Harry learned, meant if he could get his magic back. But he had no hope of that. It had been twelve years and he still had no magic.

Ginny and Hermione walked quickly through the beds, saying a quick hello to Poppy when they passed her. She nodded back at them, hands stained with blond and silvery curls coming out of her bun. "He's in the hospital bed, Hermione. I assume you're here for training?"

Hermione only nodded as she passed.

Harry sat cross-legged on the bed, knitting something violently orange. It had been a habit he had taken up since he had nothing to do. He also read all and any books Hermione had lent him, including _Hogwarts: A History. _It had actually been very interesting. He looked up as Hermione and Ginny walked in. "Hey, Gin, Mione. I'm knitting this for Ron's Christmas gift. Sorry it's got to go in your flat, Mione." Said wife of Ron snorted.

Ron was still an avid Cannons supporter, even if there wasn't a Quidditch League anymore. Actually, there was very little left anymore. The entire Ministry of Magic was run by Death Eaters, and Voldemort was the Minister. Hogwarts was left deserted, for there was now a school in the Ministry for the children of Death Eaters, and for any pureblooded witch or wizard who wished for their children to become a Death Eater. Muggleborns were no more; halfbloods were killed or ignored. Wizards who didn't agree with Voldemort cowered in fear, and prayed for those people who resisted to save them. No one knew what those who resisted were called except for the resisters themselves; namely, the Order of the Pheonix. The public had taken to calling them the Resistance, in honor of the French Resistance of the Second World War. But the Order had no hope. They cowered in fear of discovery themselves, yet they knew they were the only people who could help the the wizarding, and even, to a point, the Muggle world.

And the only person who could kill Voldmort was the one person who lacked magic.

Ginny leaned down and pressed her lips to his. "Feeling magical today?" she asked.

Harry frowned at her. "No. Filch is probably more magical than I am right now."

Hermione sat down on the bed. "Relax, Harry. You say that every day."

Harry looked at her, green eyes serious. Of all of his friends, he was the one whose appearance didn't change daily. "It's been twelve years, Mione. It's not going to happen. I've been cooped up for twelve years. _Twelve years! _Nothing's going to happen. Nothing at all."

Hermione sighed. She, secretly, thought the same way. "Well, let's go through your spells and hand movements anyway. Albus'll be in at eleven."

"I'd better go get Lily and James up," Ginny said. She leaned down and kissed Harry again, who tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and kissed her back with fervor.

Hermione coughed. The two separated, both blushing. "News from the Order?" she asked crisply.

"Two more deaths," Harry said dully. "Seamus and—would you believe he was on our side—he was a spy—Blaise Zabini."

"Really?" Hermione asked. Then she thought. "He was always a decent Slytherin, though. His family wasn't that rich or pureblood happy. I think he was actually put in Slytherin because he had the qualities, not the family."

Harry smiled faintly. "That's a first."

Ginny stared at Harry. "Wait. Seamus?"

Harry sobered. "Yeah. Seamus."

Hermione took his hand. "Oh, Harry. He's supported you since fifth year."

Harry nodded, jaw clenched tight. "I know."

Silence.

Harry suddenly looked up. "Let's get started, then."

Hermione nodded. "All right. What is the hand movement and words for the Levitation Spell?"

Harry gave her a small smile. "_Wingardum Leviosa. _Swish and flick."


	3. Drastic Acts of Terror

A/N: OK, I know I haven't updated in forever, but here's a new chapter. I don't own it, and I know it might be a little OOC, but I've struggled to keep it as IC as I could. If it's OOC, I'll attempt to excuse by saying this is fourteen years after OotP, and they haven't been easy, happy-go-lucky years, either. Fourteen really hard years could change a person a lot, or a little, or none, I reckon. But I tried, really I did.

I also debated on how Hermione's spells might be detected by something in the Ministry, but I decided that the entrance she uses would've been made by someone who works for Voldemort; i.e., Snape or something. Anyway, here it is.

I don't own it, and flames will be used to heat my oven to make a cake in honor of Barricade Day, for those of you who know _Les Misérables. _And since my oven runs on natural gas, I don't need flames. However, I appreciate constructive criticism and if you don't like my story, just tell me why. Thank you!

**

* * *

****Drastic Acts of Terror Require Drastic Acts of Control**

Hermione walked through an alley, completely alert. She had left Harry to do her scout work, and was now heading towards the Ministry of Magic.

Technically, Hermione couldn't enter the Ministry, but there were ways to get in other than the telephone booth. She found the booth, and walked down the alley behind it, pulling an Invisibility Cloak out of her purse and removing her Muggle coat. She stopped at what looked like a beat-up trash bin smashed against the wall, and carefully folded her coat and set her purse down, performing Disillusionment Charms on them both. She then performed one on herself and cast a Silencing Charm on herself as well. She couldn't take any chances.

Throwing on the Cloak, she lifted the lid of the crunched trash bin and whispered softly, "Numph blubber Christmas Eve America."

It was a password that no one would guess and that no one would say accidentally, Dumbledore hoped. So far, he had been right, but there were several other secret doors like this.

The trash can faded and a door appeared in its place. Hermione whispered "_Alohomora" _and slipped inside.

She fell onto floor near the Department of Mysteries. It was typically empty, and completely devoid of portraits of any kind. Today was no different.

She found her way to the atrium, walking quickly and silently, and avoiding as many main hallways as possible, and kept out of vision of as many portraits as she could. Some portraits, at times, could see through invisibility cloaks, or at least sense that they were there, so she tried to stay away from them. The Order had learned very quickly which portraits could tell and which could not.

She passed only two people in the halls—Theodore Nott and Narcissa Malfoy, who had a black eye and a cut across her right cheek.

Narcissa, they had discovered, was basically Voldemort's playtoy. He had killed Lucius for not succeeding in killing off the Weasleys, as he had been told to, and had taken Narcissa for himself. It was said that Draco was under four Imperius Curses and was out killing Order members. It was also said that Voldemort had killed him when Draco tried to kill him for killing his father. In truth, no one knew where he was or what he was doing, but, since Hermione's sixth year, Draco had been considered the most dangerous second-generation Death Eater, and, now due to his disappearance, he still was.

Hermione sighed. Poor Narcissa. She had never felt sorry for the woman until then. She would never feel sorry for Draco, though.

Hermione silently stepped into the atrium, staying near the edge as she neared the first mass of chattering people. There, she dropped an Extendable Ear (Disillusioned, of course) and snuck to the other mass, dropping another Ear. She quickly backed away to an inconspicuous corner to listen.

"The Dark Lord wants Sector One to go out today and look for Resistance members," Henry Avery was saying. "Sector Two AA is to scout for Weasleys, particularly Bill Weasley, who killed Rosier recently. Two AB and Two B are off today—he wants them to wreak havoc over by Buckingham. Don't be seen! Sector Three is to attack this list of people." He passed around a list. Silently Hermione Summoned one. "Sector Four is at his command."

The Sectors were the Death Eaters who were elite—like Aurors. However, they had less power than Aurors in that there was still Voldemort's inner circle—Nott, Avery, and others, to answer to, not just the Minister. Voldemort's inner circle also made up the Wizengamot, held desk jobs, and led the Sectors. It was surprisingly well-organized, although people who didn't do what they were told suffered much more than they might've in the old Ministry. The dungeons, deep in the bowels of the Ministry were always full, and Azkaban was now essentially death row.

The only people who still had their pre-war jobs were the Unspeakables. When they became Unspeakables, they had been charmed not to tell anyone what they were working on, and physically could not tell. The Department of Mysteries was practically separate from the rest of the Ministry now; the only thing connecting it to the rest of the government was the fact that they were in the same building. No one knew what they had been working on for twelve years; no one knew if they came to work at all--the Department of Mysteries had its own Floo space.

Hermione listened for fifteen minutes longer and learned nothing new. So, grinning from the information gained and the easy job today, she left, still cautiously, but not as much as she had been.

She passed the portrait of Grimwald the Grump at the same time Gregory Goyle walked across the other side of the hall.

Grimwald was possibly the only portrait in the entire Ministry who was on the Order's side. He could sense Invisibility Cloaks and waggled his shaggy silver eyebrows at her as she passed.

Hermione bowed just slightly, and then walked on, wary of Goyle but her guard down.

So, she tripped over a rug just after she passed the portrait, and the rug moved.

Goyle, stupid though he may have been, noticed.

Hermione's wand flew out of her hand, hitting Goyle in the leg.

_Damn_.

She grabbed the wand and backed up against the wall, breathing hard, sweat starting to from on her forehead. Goyle had smartened up in twelve years, she decided, and he whirled, pointing his wand at her general location.

He was good, wasn't he?

"You," Goyle said. "Come out. Take off your cloak."

Hermione smirked just a little, and removed the hood of her cloak.

"_Take it off!"_

"It is off," Hermione whispered, but he couldn't hear her. The Silencing Charm held.

Goyle turned to Grimwald. "Have you seen anyone?"

Grimwald said, a little grumpily, "I only saw you recently. I can't _see _people under Invisibility Cloaks."  
Goyle angrily slammed his hand against the wall, six inches away from Hermione. She flinched. "Well, did you sense anyone?"

Grimwald glared at him. "No. Now, will you let me go to sleep?"

Goyle glared at the portrait. "You're on _their _side, aren't you?"

Grimwald's glare deepened. "If I was, would I still be here?"

Goyle made a slashing movement with his wand, and a rip appeared on the side of the portrait. Grimwald flinched, edging to the other side.

Goyle turned and pointed his wand at where he thought Hermione was. "_Crucio_," he murmured.

The curse just barely grazed her arm, shooting a jolt of pain through her body. As her mind cleared, she removed the Silencing Charm with a wave of her wand and whispered under her breath, "_Severus._"

She chuckled a little bit when she thought of Snape, and the fact that his first name was a Severing Charm.

The charm hit him squarely in his wand arm—just where it was supposed to. Hermione jumped across the hallway so she was right behind him, and watched him shoot off another Cruciatus Curse, blood dripping down his arm and onto the carpet. It hit the wall and left a smoldering hole.

Hermione hit him with a Tickling Charm and watched Goyle collapse on the ground in laughter, rolling in his own blood.

Hermione shuddered, eyes widening.

Oh, God, there was so much blood. It gushed out of Goyle's arm and onto the deep purple carpet, forming a puddle. She pressed a hand over her mouth, trying not to retch.

She turned and ran down the hallway, flung open the door and, picking up her purse and coat, ran down the alley as fast as she could. She wasn't risking anything.

Hermione relayed the information to the Order as soon as she got to Grimmauld Place, and handed Dumbledore the list of houses that were going to be attacked. He passed it to Nymphadora Tonks, who ran through the house yelling names and addresses for people to head to.

"Walk with me, Mrs. Weasley," Dumbledore said serenely. He had aged greatly in twelve years, and walked with a slight limp, but looked hardly any different from the first time Hermione had seen him, nearly twenty years ago. She fell into step next to him.

"How's Harry?"

"Depressed. But I think we may have made a breakthrough."

"Really?"

"Mrs. Potter walked in, about fifteen minutes after I arrived, and began yelling because Harry didn't do the laundry or some such. Harry gave her such a glare her hair literally stood on end. It's been horribly frizzy ever since. I believe he may have sent some sort of magic to make her hair defy gravity in such a way. It's good news. However, Mrs. Potter was sent out not long after to check a tip-off we received, and they were not resolved. Harry is now feeling very guilty; he fears she will be killed."

"But that's good news! Maybe he _will _get his magic back!"

"I do hope so, Mrs. Weasley. How are your children, by the way?"

"They're both fine; the love primary school. Luna just learned long division and loves it; Neville plays primary rugby and is learning how to write cursive. Supposedly they live with my parents; it's easier because they're Muggles. Ron is working the late evening shift at a fast food restaurant and doing Weasley work during the day; he works alongside Bill. They do strategizing and code-breaking."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Nothing less than I would've expected in these times. How was today for you?"

Hermione paled as she thought about it. "I think I killed someone, Albus."

He raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

Hermione related the events, finishing with, "I think the Severing Charm I hit him with hit a major artery; he didn't stop bleeding, and I think he bled to death while laughing and now—" She sniffled, trying not to cry, a few tears leaking down her cheeks anyway. The facts had just become set in her head, and now she realized what she had done—had she killed him? She hoped so and she hoped not; she didn't want his blood on her hands.

Dumbledore patted her arm and handed her a handkerchief. She blew her nose as he said, "Don't worry; it will be fine."

Hermione was still mumbling. "And he was always so stupid, and I should've hit him with a Dancing Curse or something, not a Tickling Charm, because nobody could go through that hall for two days and—"

"Hermione."

Harry stood at the door of L'Hopital.

Hermione whirled. "What?"

"Stop. You did what you had to do. It was quick thinking, and you got out of there." He smiled faintly. "I wish I could be out there."

"No, you don't," Hermione and Ginny said instantly. Harry turned and saw his wife, now with long brown waves and matching eyes, standing at the end of the hallway looking exhausted but alive.

"Ginny, I'm so sorry—" Harry started. Ginny laughed and walked up to him, silencing him with a soft kiss.

"It's just fine. You had things to think about, I had things to think about, and the laundry shouldn't matter so much to me. Anyway, Mrs. Weasley—no _you_, Hermione—had offered to do it anyway." She took his arm. "Come on. Let's go get some lunch."

Harry smiled and they walked down the hall. Dumbledore smiled after them, eyes twinkling. "Such a fine couple," he remarked.

Hermione nodded, the corners of her mouth turning up a little. "Indeed."

Dumbledore took her elbow and led her into L'Hopital. "Now, Mrs. Weasley, I know you're a little upset over the Goyle incident, but there are times when there is very little you can do in the case of self-defense. As this quite clearly was. Though I want to do this with as little bloodshed as possible, I also want to keep the members of the Order alive."

Hermione nodded. "And I understand that, sir; it's just—just that I didn't want to get involved in all this bloodshed and yet, here I am, killing Death Eaters like an experienced, _trained_ Auror. And I'm not even an Auror."

Dumbledore nodded, sobering instantly. "I don't think any of us wanted to get into this, Hermione. But drastic acts of terror require drastic acts of control, and while we are not, per say, controlling, we are giving Voldemort something to fear."

"Are you sure, Professor?" Hermione asked, worried.

"Would he be out looking for us if he didn't fear us?"

Hermione smiled faintly. "Good point, I suppose." She sat for a moment, convincing herself that Dumbledore was right—of course he was right! It was so logical—she didn't know why she hadn't remembered that herself. She smiled again, stronger this time and said, "And, if we didn't try to stop them, who would?"

Dumbledore smiled at her, but the smile didn't reach his worried, old eyes. "Exactly, Mrs. Weasley." He stood and walked over to the disguised window—one could see out but not in. His face looked distant. "Who would?"


End file.
